


Dear Mr. Sinbad

by Shahnaz



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, M/M, MagiBB 2017, Magibb2017, Modern AU, dork dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11480796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shahnaz/pseuds/Shahnaz
Summary: In a different world, Sinbad receives a letter from a little girl with a very familiar last name - that of a high school boyfriend, and after making contact with Drakon, he makes an impulsive offer to help the man by watching the kids, unware of what exactly he signed up for.





	Dear Mr. Sinbad

In the midst of bills, junk mail, and his royalty checks was an envelope – business sized, addressed to him as “Mr. Sinbad”, and judging from the slight shakiness that it was clearly written by a child. He pauses in curiosity as he sat on the seat of his motorcycle, carefully inspecting it.

It had been forward from the home he had been staying during high school – and honestly, he’s not sure how it got to him, but the name on the return address caught his attention.

Kartanon.

What’s more, by chance he had moved into the very same city that the return address was from, the odds were so incredibly low that it defies belief.

 

His breath catches as he tears open the envelope and unfolded the uneven, letter and started to read, the diction was rather stilted, clearly from following a school-taught format too literally.

_Dear Mr. Sinbad,_

_I am writing because I found your name in Papa’s book. My name is Rosalind and I am seven years old, with a little brother and a big sister. Papa’s been trying to act tough, but since mom’s gone, I know he’s been really lonely and I thought he needed a friend, so I looked in his things and found your name a lot of pictures of you two smiling so I decided to write you and ask you to call him because I think it would make him happy. I put his cell number in the envelope._

_Sincerely Yours,  
Rosalind_

_P.S: Don’t tell him I looked in his desk._

So he kept those? He thought as he as he shook the envelope, and caught the scrap of paper with a series of numbers written with a red glitter pen. Sinbad debated – it’s been a long time, they had fell out of touch some point after Dragul enlisted and gotten married, it’d be awkward to call him, especially as he’d had to explain how he got the number.

On the other hand, Sahel’s gone – he met her a few times, and even was a best man for their wedding despite his and Drakon’s past, and he knew how much the man adored his wife, so he must be hurting pretty bad.

Some hours later, after a long shower, and time to mull over it – he dialed.

And waited.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end was all too familiar, even with time passing. “This is Dragul Kartanon – who’s this?” He sounded annoyed – probably half expecting a spiel about timeshares or cruises, or windows scams to be fired at him.

“Hey Drakon.” His lips curled into a little smile at the nickname. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Sin-Sinbad!” There was a clunk, and a muffled gasp. Soon he heard the shuffling as the man on the other end picked up the phone again. “How – how did you get this number?”

“Funny thing, someone mailed it to me. Or tried to, they got an old address. I’m lucky it even got to me at all.” The violet-haired man leaned against the wall, wondering for a moment if this was a mistake.

“Mailed it to you… but who would….” Drakon trails off. “You always had the devil’s luck, things working out for you even when it shouldn’t. So what made you call?”

“It sounded like life dealt you a bad hand.” Sinbad closes his eyes, imagining the man was pacing. “I’m-“

“Don’t. I mean, I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s been crazy the last few months, and then hearing your voice again after so long.” There was a long, tired sigh. “I, I’m glad to hear your voice again, even with that stupid nickname. But I’m fine, I’ll be okay.” There was a terse tone to it, like it was a line he practiced over and over again.

“You’re not fine – I know that tone, you just want me to not worry. Is there something I can do?”

“Like what? You’re probably in Sudan, or Nepal, or somewhere like that.” Drakon scoffs.

“Actually…” His gaze fell to the floor, as he lets out his own sigh. “I’m taking a hiatus from that.” He puts a kind of finality in the sentence, hoping to deter questions before he told him his current residence. “It’s just a small apartment, a place-”

“You’re just across town from us! How the hell did that happen?!” The man cuts him off voice raised in disbelief – in the background; he could hear a muffled voice asking Drakon who he was talking to.

“…Well, since I’m close and don’t have much to do.” Sinbad started slowly as his brain tried to stop him from speaking as it was a ridiculous, impulsive offer. “I could help out, like – say, watch the kids or something like that.”

There was a long pause, long enough that the man wondered if he had gone too far.

“I won’t lie, it’s kind of tempting, I have a full time job, and sometimes I don’t get out until well after school ends,” He could picture Drakon rubbing his temple, eyes glancing to the side as he mulls over the offer. “But I need to see you in person first.”

“It’s a date.” Sinbad grins as he answers automatically, before his eyes widened as he realized what he just said. “Crap – I didn’t-”

“Sinbad.” Drakon hisses through his teeth, before sighing. “You really hadn’t changed, have you?” He could almost hear the hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m off Saturday, you come over, and we’ll see how it goes.”

They both hung up at about the same time. It wasn’t until he was sitting down at his metal desk that he realized that his heart was racing, old memories surfacing – he supposed his self-imposed hiatus was making him more sentimental, reaching for old comforts. Perhaps it was a mistake to hang up the camera; he’s been at it so long he didn’t know what to do with himself.  
\--

Saturday rolled around sooner than it should, and Sinbad found himself on some borderline suburban street with potholes deep enough that he had to do quite a bit of veering as not to end up with a wheel plunging and him possibly getting flipped off his bike. He could also feel the angry stare of a busybody soccer mom as he killed the engine.

This was the right place – a light blue house two lots away from the corner, trimmed neat. He started to knock, and waited. While they had talked at least twice since the first call, it still felt surreal, seeing the face of a friend after so much time.

Well… friend was too mild, a voice murmurs in the back of his head. Friends don’t make out in the backseat of a secondhand Oldsmobile in high school. Sinbad quickly pushed those thoughts away; this was not the time and place for that sort of recollection.

The door creaks open, and a pair of light honey-colored eyes peered out at him before it openly opens. Drakon was still taller than him by a good three inches, and his green hair was short in a fashion that betrays it had been in a military-regulated crew cut up until a few months ago, and he was neatly dressed – but that’s always been the case ever since they first met in middle school.

Soon the kids came downstairs – a girl in her early teens that takes a lot after Sahel with her dark brown hair and curve of her nose, a girl about seven – must be Rosalind, and a boy about four, both looking more like their father with their eyes and brows – with Rosalind having his widow’s peak. The man scoops up the boy, stepping aside to let Sinbad in.

“The boy’s Cyrus, that’s Rosalind,” he toss his chin towards the middle child. “And Layla, you already met her, but she was six at the time.” The oldest girl gave a shy nod as the group drifted towards the kitchen. Already Sinbad could see their personality, Rosalind was already at him with questions, while Layla hung back, just watching while Cyrus seems completely disinterested.  
Coffee was brewed, the kids had juice, and they talked, Rosalind and Cyrus eventually wandered upstairs, and Layla to the living room next to them, but positioned on the couch in a way so she can quickly look back at them.

It started off light, confirmation of the letter, what they had been doing in the last few months, then about the kids, how Cyrus will try to paint everything with anything, Rosalind hates being called Rosie, how Layla’s old enough to watch her siblings for a few hours, but not for a whole evening.

Then the conversation drifted back to high school, the oldsmobile that was a hand-me-down from Barbarossa that once ate Sinbad’s cassette of Who’s Next, the English teacher who could be easily bribed with M&Ms to essentially skip a period, the first and only time Drakon tried alcohol against his better judgment – the story was followed up by him sharply stating to his daughter not to even try it. Then there were the whispered stories, huddling close, but trailing off as a rare blush appear, things that didn’t need to be said with a teenage daughter within earshot, or least Drakon quickly shushed him.

Questions about family, school, activities – and Sinbad hastily waves off his hiatus from his photography as needed downtime, earning a slight frown from the other man, but he did not push.

Soon an agreement was reached, schedules arranged, and the violet-haired man left at about three in the afternoon.  
\--  
The first night was an exercise in patience; Layla wanted nothing to do with him beyond telling him where things were and Cyrus apparently was channeling the road runner, tearing through the house and making improbably fast turns. Sinbad wondered several times why he thought this was a good idea to volunteer. Thankfully however boy’s burst of energy was short-lived, as he torn his way up the stairs, and it seemed like soon as he turn the corner, the boy was zonked out in the chair in what looks to be an office.

Soon he spies a familiar red and silver-lettered book, and pulls it down – knowing what it was before reading the title – their high school year book. Honestly, it didn’t surprise him that it was there – Drakon prides himself on being practical, but he is actually very sentimental underneath that gruff front he put up.

He traces the spiderweb pattern on the upper left corner, down to the spider dangling from it – Madison High Spiders. There was a bang from downstairs, and he snapped out of his thoughts, wincing – the man set the book down, started to go before stopping – right, Cyrus. Quickly Sinbad tries to scoop him up without waking him up before hurrying down the stairs to see what it was.

And he’s only been here for two hours. If God exists, he’ll need some help.  
\--  
Drakon slowly opens the door, breath held, images of food, broken china, a burning stove and chaos danced in his mind before dismissing it. Sinbad wouldn’t be that bad, he chided himself. He scans the living room, there were some toys lying abandoned on the floor, curtains left part way open, a few half-full glasses left on the coffee table. Not clean, but not a complete disaster, the man himself was sprawled on the couch, snoring softly. He catches himself smiling before he shook it off, reaching over to shake him awake.

Drakon sprung back at the panicked jolt Sinbad gave, before the blinks and seem to recall where he was – strange, he never remembered him having a high startle reflex like that. “Evening,” he calls out as the man starts to settle down. “How was it?”

“Long,” Sinbad murmurs with a yawn. “I don’t think Layla likes me all that much.” He rubs an eye.  
“She’s shy,” Drakon explains. “I think it’s from all the time we’ve spent moving before I got out.”

“Or from you, you weren’t exactly a social butterfly when we were kids.” The violet-haired man noted with a slight grin.

“Everyone looks shy when compared to you.” Drakon grumps slightly as he sits down. “I don’t think there was anyone who didn’t have at least a passing familiarity with you.” He studies the other man’s face. “You look tired, how about I drive you home?”

“I’m fine,” Sinbad starts to wave him off, but his wrist was suddenly clasped.

“No way am I letting you drive exhausted on a motorcycle.” The man stated firmly.

“It’s not that bad, I’ve driven in warzones and in deserts on that thing.”

“Both would keep you wide awake, riding tired is different.” Drakon counters stubbornly. “My van’s big enough to put it in the back,”

There’s a quiet groan at that. “You really are bullheaded, fine we’ll do it that way, but the tires are going to make a mess.” He pointed out as a last effort rebuttal.

“That can be cleaned.” He starts to stand up and started for the door – pausing. “…And thanks, it really helped, are you…” Drakon trails off, hesitant to ask.

“Yea, I can keep doing it, so when do you need me next?”  
\--

“So you and dad…” Layla started as the younger kids ran off to watch some cartoon about a wallaby. Sinbad looked up from his laptop, having decided to write during the brief downtimes he got.

“What about us?” The man started slowly, a little surprised the girl initated conversation with him, and he noticed the year book in hand. She opened it, and pointed to a very familiar handwriting that was on the upper-left corner of the inside cover. He didn’t even need to read it to know what it had said, or what she was going to ask next.

“You were dating in high school, weren’t you?” She stated in an almost accusing voice.

He closes his laptop, and nodded. “Yeah, neither of us were out to the school, or anyone but my parents back then – different times.” Sinbad explained.

At the honest confirmation, she deflated, not expecting it. “But Dad’s-“

“It’s called Bisexuality, kind of funny we’re both interested in either sex. So, yes, your dad did love and still loves your mom.”

“How did you know I was-” She gaped, before closing her mouth, as she turns and sulkily flops onto the couch.

“I just had a feeling.” He answered, glancing to the side as she starts to open the book, and flicks through the pages, eventually falling open to a collage of school activities. Quietly he groans as she starts to cackle.

“Is that a collar you’re wearing?” Layla pointed to the picture – he knew exactly which one it was, Drakon would be in his football uniform, and he was in whatever he was wearing that day, which included a ratty denim vest with several band patches ironed on. Thank whoever’s listening he didn’t have a mullet; he’d never live it down! “Why were you wearing a collar?”

“Because that’s what the cool rebels were doing.” Sinbad huffs defensively, before lifting his chin. “Your father used to put half a bottle of gel in his hair every day; it was so stiff you could bounce quarters off it.” He tried to deflect, which worked somewhat as the girl started to laugh even harder at the image it conjured up.

“You both looked like dorks!” She snickered.

“Oh you said a bad word!” Rosalind suddenly yelled from the other side of the room.

“What? I didn’t say anything bad!” The older girl retorted. “I said dork, because he’s a dork.” She pointed to Sinbad.

“It’s a bad word.” She insisted, looking to Sinbad for confirmation, and when she saw the blank look she continued. “Joey’s brother told me that the D word is a Whales’-”

“Ooooh that word! Let’s not repeat what you said to your dad!” Sinbad quickly cuts her off; he will not be blamed for something he didn’t do, though he’s shocked that old wives’ tale was still around. “Let’s forget all about it, it’s about dinner time, how about Pizza?” He brightly suggested before pausing.

“There’s probably some types that’d be halal…” Layla added, noticing the grimace. While the Kartanons weren’t by any definitions strict, they still had some tenets they adhered to. “I can go look.”

With a relieved look, he nods – he always had been agnostic and so used to only considering his own needs that he kept forgetting that Drakon and his kids had their own requirements.

A brief memory flashed, in sixth grade of teasing Dragul with bacon and getting snapped at – he was bullheaded and thought he was being oversensitive, but then realized how much of a jackass he was being.

With that thought he glances over at the kids – noting the man had raised some pretty good ones, not a single tantrum in the entire time he’s been watching them, then he looks to Layla again, noticing how her face was scrunched up, phone to her ear before she pulled it away and tapped it.

“Something wrong?” He asked.

“When I asked if they can do halal pizza… the guy said to stop joking, and then – said I was stupid for asking.” She started quietly, then blinked as Sinbad held his hand out, gesturing at the phone.

“I’m going to have words with them.” He stated, his eyes growing hard.

“It’s okay, really.” She shook her head, fidgeting in place.

“No it’s not. There’s no excuse for anyone to talk like that to anyone.” With that she handed the phone over.

They may not be his kids, but damn if he’s going to let some jackass talk down to them like that.  
\--  
It was almost like being back in high school, he thought as he looked over at the man next to him, admiring his profile – he had grown into his chiseled features and almost brooding eyes. If he stays over tonight, it’d be his second day doing so – as a work emergency caused Drakon to not come home until close to midnight, and he insisted that he stay for the night – though they ended up staying up for another two hours talking before the hideabed was pulled out. However, Sinbad had suspected it wasn’t just out of concern for his well-being. It was subtle, but they were inching closer together on the couch, and he ended up putting a hand on the man’s knee without really thinking – Drakon pauses, setting the book down at the gesture, for a moment seeming to freeze.

The photographer stopped, realizing he was out of line and starts to move his hand away but it was grasped. There’s a long moment of silence as the two stared, and someone – he’s not sure who started to lean in, but Dragul lets go, and shook his head – the action was more directed at himself. Soon he excuses himself off towards bed.

It wasn’t lost on Sinbad – there was a real want, but he wasn’t ready, not yet. And he can’t help but admit he’s starting to fall for the man again, the gruff exterior hiding a gentle and thoughtful man, how he can be so accidentally charming, and he still had a cute blush. Quickly, he shook his head, no – don’t think like that, the man is a Widower still trying to figure things out, don’t intrude.  
\--  
There was a peal of laughter, as Rosalind climb up Sinbad’s back like a monkey, while Cyrus was already at the slid in the backyard, demanding pushes from his oldest sister. Drakon glances over as he checks the grill, smiling slightly to himself. It’s nice to see how they’re actually getting along with his own eyes. It’s funny, he remembered a time when a lithe, short little freshman would be complaining how rude and loud the kids at the park were, but soon as a snot-nosed little girl stopped by their table asking if they’ve seen a dog, Sinbad made them stop everything to help her look. Or how he said he never wanted kids or to be tied down.

Yet, there he is, running in the yard with a little girl on his back making airplane noises. And been helping out for almost two months, staying over more nights than not.

Which then begs the question – he knew the man has gotten royalty checks for usage of his photography, but he hardly talks about his career, and made no indication that he’s considering returning to it soon, so what had happened?

Something big – Sinbad always had been one to whine about petty things, but if it’s serious, he keeps it bottled up, over some foolish idea that he would be bothering people.  
He will ask tonight, when the kids are in bed, he can’t just leave it be.  
\--  
“What is it?” Sinbad asked as he leaned against the counter – he knew the look the man was wearing, and he hated it – the brows creased to show a worry line, the slight terseness in his lips. He folded his arms over his chest almost reflexively.

“I noticed, all our time talking, you don’t talk about your work – and you don’t seem to have any plans on going back. I appreciate… no, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, and the kids adore you.” Drakon started, gesturing for Sinbad to sit at the table as he poured two mugs of coffee.

“And…?” The violet-haired man remained standing, glancing away.

An exasperated sigh escapes the man’s lips. “Something’s troubling you, something serious. I’m worried.”

Sinbad lets out a groan, barely suppressing an eye roll, before his shoulders sagged. “You won’t stop until you get an answer.” At the nod of confirmation, he pushes off the counter, and reluctantly joins the other man at the table, his hands wrapping around a cup.

“You always were stubborn, still are. You almost ended up having to drop out of school if Mr. Hoho hadn’t noticed.” Drakon started, giving a quiet sigh.

“I thought I could handle it, I mean I had to. Man, I was pissed when you insisted on tutoring me during lunch… but.” Sinbad pauses, before giving a small smile. “I couldn’t have done it. Not with my job and taking care of Mom.”

“I never had meant to imply you were dumb when I offered, I wasn’t good with words – that was your thing, your writing, and your photography, and you could express things in a way that it stuck with people.” Drakon gestured, recalling the fights they had, and how persuasive his ex and friend had been.

“…am I really resonating with people?” Sinbad glances up. “That’s what I’m wondering. Year after year, I’m going to these places, places you only hear about in trivia games, photographing suffering and atrocities, they get put on the front pages or in the evening news, I got an award or two.” His brows knit, the grip on his mug tighten. “But nothing seems to change.”

“Sinbad…” The man’s lips parted, a hand reaching to touch his shoulder, half-expecting it to be shrugged off.

“The only thing that seemed to change was how I was seeing it. I was in Tanzania with this rookie – first overseas assignment for him. It was not my usual subject – elephants poisoned by poachers, but it was a pretty terrible thing. It was sad, but I knew it would be a powerful shot, especially at the golden hour adding contrast and the vultures coming in. But this rookie? He was shaking; he couldn’t hold his camera still. Was about to snap at him that he needs to focus, but I looked at him, really looked at him. He was crying, he was pissed, and he was cursing the poachers under his breath.”

Sinbad sat back at that, his eyes hooded. “I realized then, I was getting numb to horror.” A deep sigh falls from him, his chest rising. “Some detachment has to happen to keep from having constant nightmares, but I felt like I was getting too numb, I had to step back.” He pushes his bangs from his face.

There was silence, and then the green-haired man just nodded in understanding. It’s a topic he heard repeatedly when he was MP, people shutting down to deal with horrors, and in turn those horrors eventually eat away at the people inside. “No one can blame, but what will you do?”  
“I don’t know; I’ve been doing some writing, but that’s only viable if I can get a legitimate publisher to take it.” As he considers his other options, they heard a cry from upstairs.

“What’s wrong?” Drakon asked, sitting up – realizing Sinbad had got up at almost the same instant and the two raced upstairs – the source was Cyrus’ room, the boy was in bed, sobbing. Drakon pulled his son into his arms while Sinbad hovered close, until he saw Rosalind pad into the room in sleepy confusion. The two men nodded, and the other man went to the middle child.

“Ah… a monster….” The child sniffles, the rest of his words incoherent as he clung to his father.

“Is he having a nightmare again?” Rosalind whines to Sinbad. He glances back to see Dragul consoling the youngest, then wondered, given he heard it downstairs, where was Layla?

Eventually Cyrus had calmed down, but it seems neither kid was close to being ready to go back to sleep, each man carried a kid down to the living room couch. “Surprised Layla isn’t up.” Sinbad commented idly as the girl curled next to him on the couch.

“She’s always been a heavy sleeper, couple months back the neighbor’s tree got struck by lightning – split the thing in half, one side of it crashed on our shed – it shook the entire house – not to mention the noise it made, but she didn’t know about it until the next morning.” Drakon answers as he bounces his boy in his lap, stifling a little yawn himself.

The other man snickers, just picturing it as he tries not to let the yawn infect him. Hoping to encourage the kids to sleep, he started to tell a story of a pair of siblings, the youngest had been turned into a deer by their wicked stepmother. Soon Cyrus settles against his father’s chest, and Rosalind started giving little yawns, but still struggled to stay awake, by the time Sinbad was finished, he rubbed his eyes. “Ah, good, the kids should be able to sleep now.”

Then he was out like a light.

Drakon sighs and just shook his head, before stifling an even bigger yawn. He slowly realizes – Sinbad didn’t say ‘your kids’ but ‘the kids’. A brief smile tugs at his lips despite himself as he tries to balance Cyrus while getting up, frowning as he realized there’s really no way without waking him or Rosalind up. With a slight, irritated sigh – he settles in, only to have Sinbad’s head fall on his shoulder – his heart leaping up to his throat.

Maybe he’s just lonely, he told himself, and then he shook his head – that wasn’t it. He won’t ever stop loving Sahel, but he can’t lie, things have been so much brighter with the man around.  
\--  
“Hey Sinbad,” Layla slides into the chair next to the man, peeking at his screen while she waited to get his attention.

“Yes?” He asked, noticing the year book in hand, wondering what she’s going to ask about next. She leafed through the pages, and pointed to a boy about eighteen with short light-green hair and intense, brooding eyes next to Drakon who was giving an uncomfortable, insincere smile.

“Who’s this?”

The question threw him off, both at thinking of that guy again, and the total confusion she showed. “That… would be his older brother Barbarossa.” He trails off slowly, feeling like he was tip-toeing through a landmine.

“Wait, we have an uncle?” Rosalind asked as she kneels on a chair next to her sister. “Did he die?” she asked in the blunt manner that only a kid can get away with.

Oh boy, Sinbad thought. “Far as I know, he hasn’t. Uhm, he and your dad didn’t really get along at all even as kids. When your dad got engaged to your mom, Barbarossa refused to have anything to do with them and cut contact.” Mainly because Sahel was not socially acceptable to that family of snobs, he thought to himself.

“Sounds like a jerk.” Layla clicks her tongue. “So what kind of person was he?” She pauses, noticing the grimace the man bore. “You didn’t like him.”

“He’s smart, despite being a foreigner and superficially devout, he was popular at school – student council member, 4.0 GPA, varsity sports, and volunteer work – that kind of thing.” He gestures, trying to keep his tone neutral and to keep from rolling his eyes. “But, he’s the kind of guy that likes everything done exactly as he wants it, he doesn’t tolerate competition or compromising.” And he’s a manipulate creep; he thought to himself, pity the girl his parents had arranged him to marry. “So, yes – that personality type always gets on my nerves.” Sinbad fibs.

The man had started to hit on him when he discovered he was dating Dragul – and like the stupid teenager he was, he was flattered by the attentions of an older boy, but hadn’t reciprocated – however when an expensive camera ended up in his locker, right when his boyfriend would see it, that became a problem. They ended up fighting – they might’ve patched up, might’ve broken up, hard to say – if he hadn’t by chance walked in on the two, with Barbarossa snidely telling Drakon that in the end, he’s just the person people settle for and who never stands out on his own merits.

It was really fucking satisfying to smash that camera right at Barbarossa’s feet before grabbing his boyfriend in for a kiss. Sinbad still had no idea why the man sought to break them up like that, but damn did it raise his hackles up.

“So this guy, think he’ll ever see us?” Layla asked, studying the man’s face.

“If he hasn’t seen you yet, he probably never will.” He decided to be blunt, before Rosalind gets the idea to write a letter to him. “But, I think if you have questions about him, you really should ask your dad.”

\--

The kiss came out of nowhere – Sinbad for once felt his mind go blank from sheer shock as the other man cupped his cheek. Soon he leans into it, murmuring softly. Soon, Drakon breaks the kiss, looking at the man with a slight grin.

“Didn’t expect me to make the first move, now did you?” The green-haired man said with a bit of smug pride, especially as it took the quick-witted man longer than a second to reply.

“I… are you sure,” Sinbad spread his hands, uncertainty was on the ridge of his furrowed brow, while his eyes gleamed hopefully, then he cast off the doubt and pulled him close into an embrace. “So what, are you going to propose now?” he asked with that familiar hint of mischief.

“Hell no. Not until we actually go out on proper dates!” Dragul retorted, before he started to laugh and then let it trail off. “…Thank you, for everything.” His voice softens, breathing out. “I’m not sure where we’re going with this, but - you’ve been supporting me for almost half a year, the kids love you.”

The man smiles in response. “You know, I never thought this would happen, we were a pair of immigrant kids from very different classes having high school romances – thought we’d out-grow that. So… how do we tell the kids?” Sinbad cocks his head – and received another kiss.

A loud click nearly causes the two of them to jump, whipping their heads towards the source – in time to see Layla bolting out of the room, phone in hand, with Rosalind running after, singing a very familiar playground taunt.

“Come back here!” Sinbad shouted as the two untangled themselves.

“Don’t run in the house!” The other man bellowed as they chased the kids.

Well, even if they have no idea what’s going to happen – it will at least, never be dull.


End file.
